


the devil jimmy

by Dead_dandelions19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teen Jim, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_dandelions19/pseuds/Dead_dandelions19





	the devil jimmy

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [the devil jimmy](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/367500) by dead dandelions. 



On the street the frigid January that ice steam burn cheeks of young Jimmy, causing stronger wrap up into a thin anorak and exhale cigarette smoke rings, holding his trembling fingers crushed cigarette. The thermometer in a cold apartment with strip wall-paper froze sign fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, and Jimmy, Oh, little Jimmy, desperately could not understand where England took such cold. Under the stretched elastic-perfectly starched golfs, there are ripoffs of all hell knees of a young boy from church choir. The Holy Father coveted at the gay porno, undeterred by this fact before another passion-maid that lets the whispers on the rows of parishioners that are sitting on the dilapidated wooden benches. She does not believe, because "God will condemn your sin, and then you will understand how much was wrong, darked face his father. Boys with good-looking appearance of angels literally fucked for all to see, and even metaphorical, but this, apparently, is enough for regular names on his list. In windows so hated them Church, under a thin crust frozen ice tomorrow he would be the Devil's role in them at the Sunday service, instilling fear in the hearts of such a timid fellows, in anticipation of the "Celestial Cars" from their God, Jesus Christ. Tomorrow, in Tuesday when the priest would stop reading the Gospel of Barnabas and leaves the cool abode of God, Moriarty will remain alone with sitting on the last row of pale boy with blue, cold-icy eyes that look straight in completely rotted through soul. Withdraw the requisite wings with black plumage, and again, frowned eyebrow, quotes only in voice so-most-boy Bible, deliberately-mangling the last lines.

The boy's name is Sherlock and he fucked Church laws it hundred times dropping ashes remaining from five seconds ago, Luzhkov has won again. cigarettes in the gilded frame of the icon of the Virgin Mary.  
The boy's name is Sherlock and he dressed in light jacket, black shorts and gray, until Shin, leg warmers with iscarapannymi shoes on his feet. Sherlock sends fuck it commandments "God Almighty", but continues with a tense smile to sing "our father, who art in heaven!", holding a white cross, having behind the white wings. Sherlock plays an Angel in their play lies.  
Jim presses it to the wall with an old red plaster, stepping on other decorations, Jake backstage and conducts a warm tongue on cold, iskusannym lips of Sherlock.

"Angel flushed," angry whispers it, biting the earlobe.

"Is That the same as you could notice, I'm not one of them," essentially are both filled with idiotic laughter and Jim climbs under snow-white shirt boy, kissing lips, holding the tongue on the gumline. Sherlock squeezes his pitch hair removing Moriarty. "But I prefer solitude," but rather for its own checkboxes in the "about yourself", rather than a rejection of lust.

Jim jumps off with him from the steps, wandering along the streets frozen in time, holding the town of droning from Frost fingers into the pockets of shorts, but it does not heat nihuja. Alone in his apartment, he includes a table lamp and falls with Sherlock in the soft carpet, hastily undoing on shirts both brown buttons. "Where so much confidence in the role of the asset?" sets him a question Sherlock tugging at himself for a washed-out, rumpled ties. Chastity here and does not smell anything at all about it?

«Our father in heaven. Hallowed be Your Name.» pulls choir boys with artificial nimbuses over their heads a month later, for in monochrome-colored glass on huge stained-glass windows. Sherlock squeezes the fingers cross of our Lady, chanting the Gospel of Matthew.

"Sherly," Jimmy whispers kneeling before the Angel. Carbon wings behind his back like a tied up with his body over the years pretense.  
Sherlock weakly smiles and by removing from the face of his precious Jimmy excess hair, sits down on his knees against the devil, tightly clutching his forearm. Cold eyes burn rejection-wickedness-snub and chapped, dry lips imprinted stamp on the neck.

In his room no one who hears his lonely song. Nobody except Jim, who closed him in the embrace.

Devil horror have cold hands, you know?


End file.
